A popular song between 1910 and 1920 would usually sell millions of copies of sheet music annually. The world population was roughly 25 percent of what it is today, so imagine those sales would be four or five times larger in an alternate-reality 2024. My father is 88, but even with his generation, friends and family would routinely gather around a piano and play and sing their way through a stack of songbooks. (This still happens at my dad’s house every time I’m there.)
Back in their day, recordings of music were a way to promote sheet music. Labels released recordings only after sheet-music sales slowed down on a particular song. That means that until recently, a large section of society not only knew how to read music well, but they did it often—not as often as we stare at our phones, but it was a primary part of home entertainment. By today’s standards, written music feels like a dead language. Music is probably the most common language on Earth, yet I bet it has the highest illiteracy rate.
As a lifelong professional musician, it’s surprising—and, frankly, a relief—how infrequently I read staff music. Though I read chord or Nashville number charts often, staff rarely comes up, usually only in sessions where a producer/writer/artist has a particular melody or gang riff. I feel a deep shame when I have to read music; I do it about as well as an out-of-shape guy with no training runs a marathon: slowly, painfully, maybe not making it to the finish line.
I learned everything I know about reading through junior high school orchestra, where I was a crappy violinist. So, you can chalk one up to the Montana public school system. Although at times I’m ashamed of my poor music-reading skills, it’s not that big of a deal. When I’m faced with a written staff full of sharps and flats and weird time, I just ask the keyboard player to play the tricky parts slowly. If there’s one player in the band that can read well, it’s usually keys; they mostly grew up with formal lessons. If I hear piano play the part while I read along, the dots and squiggles on the staff start to make sense.
“By today’s standards, written music feels like a dead language.”
I bet most guitar players feel conflicted about reading music. We all want to learn as much as we can about guitar, and obviously some of that information is going to escape us if we can’t read it, even with tabs and guitar-nerd videos just a few clicks away. But maybe our lack of formal training is the source of our superpower. I suspect that the reason guitar has been the driving force behind most popular music for the past 65 years is because the instrument invites exploration. The more you mess with it, the more you discover. That’s the addictive quality of guitar. That’s probably why most guitar players would rather make stuff up than read what somebody else wants them to play. When you have that many people experimenting and creating, art takes a big step forward.
By contrast, classical musicians are not about innovation or taking chances. They are more about interpretation, virtuosity, and a reverence for tradition. The majority of classical music played today was composed in 1600 to 1875. New, experimental classical music is a hard sell. People want to hear the classics, like Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart.
It’s a strange dichotomy: classical players tune by ear but almost never play by ear. Ask a seasoned orchestra player to improvise and most of them will get a little panicky.
Guitarist: Let’s jam in E.
Orchestra Nerd: What do you mean?
Guitarist: I’ll play something, you play with it. Just make up a melody.
Orchestra Nerd: What melody?
Guitarist: Just make one up?
Orchestra Nerd: What do you mean?
It goes on like that until they nervously decline.
Guitarists are, for the most part, fearless about exploration. Just look at the instrument itself. Most violins built anywhere in the world today look pretty much like the ones built in the 16th century in Italy. By contrast, guitar designs are as varied as car designs—maybe more so. Go into a big music store and you can play a gut-string, flattop, archtop, Les Paul, Tele, Strat, Jaguars, PRS, Flying V, Explorer … and that’s not even getting into the weird ones. Eddie Van Halen could not find a guitar that could produce the music in his head, so he built it. The point is, guitar is an instrument of improvisation—no rules in how you play it or how you build it.
Maybe this is just a way of justifying my shortcomings or making the most of my laziness or lack of brainpower, but I think there’s an upside to being musically illiterate. As the mighty EVH said: “You only have 12 notes, do what you want with them.”
